Fête de la Masque
by Mitsukaii
Summary: They wanted nothing but to burn the invitation.
1. ox part 01

_**fête **__**de **__**la **__**masque**  
__festival of masks_

**part  
o1 of o2**

_You are cordially invited to attend Naminé Nishidake's nineteenth birthday extravaganza. It shall be held at her grand mansion located in the outskirts of Twilight Town. Your presence would be wholeheartedly appreciated in this rather special event. Please bear in mind that this is indeed a masquerade ball; so take care to bring a mask and dedicate the whole time to, not only having the time of your lives, but also concealing your identity from others._

_At least, for the night._

**Thank you,  
**_Naminé Nishidake_

Sora snorted, exchanging glances with his best friend.

"Ee-yeah. I say we burn it." He edged towards the fireplace. A masquerade ball…? It was an absolutely ridiculous thought. Wouldn't it be awfully confusing and irritating to be unaware of everyone else's identity during some party? And it wasn't like he had a mask. Or anything formal to wear… it _was_ going to be a ball, anyhow. Naminé was a nice girl and all, but he didn't feel up to going to a birthday full of… _masked people_.

Roxas quickly reached out and grabbed the violet-scented, ribbon-graced invitation from Sora's hands. There was a hasty, hesitating look reflecting against his eyes—his blue eyes, a color equivalent to that of his friend's but the emotion completely opposite. He shook his head, smiling awkwardly, and said defensively, "No—think about it. It could be fun. We don't even have plans for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night!" Sora echoed, growling, grouchily collapsing on the sofa. He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, a vaguely bothered pout resident on his face. His lips twitched stubbornly before lifting his gaze to meet Roxas'. "Tomorrow night, Roxas! That's such short notice. Why do you want to go so badly, anyway? Oh, wait. Excuse me. I think it's because you're craving some _alone_ time with Miss Nishidake—and you can't bear to go to her posh mansion without your best buddy tagging along, because you would look lame going alone. I'm not oblivious, Roxas."

Roxas turned three shades of red. Then he turned two shades of pink. "B-But," he stammered dumbly. It was sort of pathetic. So pathetic, in fact, that Sora sighed… _almost_ giving in.

"Give. Me. _One_. Good. Reason."

Suddenly, Roxas' face regained its normal color, and a wickedly taunting smirk spread across his face. His azure eyes lit up knowingly. It was slightly eerie. "Olette might go."

Sora fell off the couch. "Olette?"

… …

Olette snorted, exchanging glances with her roommate.

"Uh huh. I say we burn it." She turned on her heels, grasping the invitation in her hands, and began parading towards the next room. Burn it. Definitely. She wasn't into these types of things. Seriously, a _masked_ ball…? With everyone's faces concealed and everyone's identity unknown? _I think not._ Olette felt intimidated by the mere thought of attending a party running on mystique. Naminé was a great girl—Olette would have considered going if it wasn't for the theme of the party. But, in this case, the theme of the party was masks and, first of all, she didn't even _have_ a mask.

Kairi immediately grabbed Olette's frail wrist, a little too forcefully, causing her friend to reel back and land on her rear end. She stared down at Olette's chestnut locks, a pleading look developing in her light crystalline eyes. She frowned gently, reaching down and helping up her friend. "Olette… we don't even _have_ a fireplace."

"I'll use the stove!" Olette declared, pointing a finger in the direction of the small kitchen the two girls shared. The brunette mellowed down when she received a high-powered glare from Kairi. She let herself collapse upon a maroon armchair. Sighing, she lightly folded her hands in front of her. "I know Naminé is your best friend and everything… and that you really, really want me to go—but seriously! It's, like… such short notice and stuff!"

Kairi leaned against the side of the armchair, blowing at a stray lock of red hair that fell against her gleaming eyes. "Don't make me come down there and hurt you."

"Oh, I'm _so_ scared," Olette drawled, rolling her eyes in clear exasperation, and stopping her gaze to meet Kairi's. Guilt began to rise within her as she saw the upset expression on her friend's face. It was then that she felt the smallest bit of sympathy for her roommate, and even _slighty_ considered attending the party. "Give me… _one_ good reason."

Kairi arched an eyebrow. "Sora might be going."

Olette nearly had a seizure. "Sora?"

… …

Sora practically gagged, hauling himself to his feet. He ruffled his unruly brown hair in a beleaguered type of manner, groaning. "Now I _really_ don't want to go! She hates me, Roxas! Everything I do, everything I say—she finds a reason within those things and takes offense toward it. She twists my phrases around and makes me look like an idiot. It's like she lives and breathes to make my life a living—"

"See?" interjected Roxas, tweaking his head to the side and grinning as he closed his eyes. "You like Olette so much that the mere mentioning of her name makes you babble out useless stuff!"

"I don't like her, Roxas! Haven't you ever noticed our constant arguments?"

"The best couples always start out that way." Roxas opened his eyes, still smiling toothily as he shrugged his shoulders. A devious glint shone in the boy's orbs. "And you can't really refuse, because I promised Naminé we'd be there—I've already gotten our tuxes and masks. Everything's _ready_. You're going, even if I have to bind you with rope and drag you there myself."

Sora's eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you've got the rope ready, too?"

"Heck yeah."

… …

Olette was up in an anguished flash, pacing back and forth madly, _heatedly_ across the living room floor. She pulled on her messily tied ponytails, expelling a steamed breath from her mouth. She whimpered. "_Now_ I really can't go! He hates me, Kairi! It's like whenever I speak to him, he thinks I mean something else… when I don't! And when I say things, I'm not that careful. I don't _try_ to make him look like an idiot. He just naturally _is_ one. He probably thinks I'm out to get him to make his life a living—"

"Breathe!" Kairi took Olette by the shoulders, as if that would order her friend's lungs to function properly. "Jeez. The thought of _him_ gets you really worked up, doesn't it?" She smirked, as if she knew something Olette didn't. Olette disliked that feeling. She despised being looked at in such a way. "You must really like him…"

"I don't like him, Kairi! Have you _ever_ noticed that we almost _never_ get along?"

"I, for one, think it's cute." Kairi's nose shot up snootily, still eyeing her roommate. "You're going, you know. Naminé and I already picked out dresses—and I took the liberty of getting you one. And the mask I found for you… you'll love it. You can't really refuse. Because I'll seriously haul you over there myself."

"I'd like to see you try," seethed Olette, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't _have_ to try."

… …

Sora shook his head. "I am _not_ going and you—"

… …

Olette sighed. "—tell Naminé that it was great of her to invite me, but—"

… …

"—I can't go." Sora finished, shrugging just as Roxas had done earlier. And that was that. He wasn't going. Roxas couldn't make him—no matter _what_ he said. Ever since early childhood, Sora and Olette had never interacted harmoniously. Friendship between them seemed impossible and not meant to be. A single act of kindness always went the wrong way. Every good intention turned negative. _Every_ smile looked like a rude smirk, and _every_ lighthearted laugh seemed like a dastardly chuckle. Everything had always perceived to be the opposite. It seemed as though the flaws were not capable of being hidden…

Unless, of course, they used a mask.

…

…

_to be continued._

**end of part o1.**

_for my darling mucky._


	2. xo part 02

**_fête de la masque  
_**_festival of masks_

**part  
o2 of o2**

"_Dance __with__ me._"

A brunette whirled around, her earthly emerald orbs clashing against eyes as deep as the ocean. She grew inquisitive, staring at the one who had dared to ask for a dance. Her truly puzzled expression was hidden behind a mask of hardened white silk, studded with rhinestones and delicate pristine feathers. It curved just above the bridge of her nose and ended where her soft upper lip twitched into a small frown.

Olette had indeed attended the masquerade ball. Somehow, the night before, she knew it was going to end up like this. She knew, in some obscure way, that Kairi would have the very capability of persuading her to attend the party. It was the moment Kairi had shown her the dress—the very dress the redhead wanted Olette to wear to the ball. Guilt is a rather unpleasant feeling, so it was completely logical when Olette had instantly been overcome with guilt as her eyes feasted upon the lovely dress: strapless, layers of white silk just above her knees, a dainty ribbon embedded with a single diamond resting at the side of the waist.

The most feminine of feminineness had almost erupted from the brunette right then. Her girly side had made itself apparent and simply cracked. Then, she realized, that she _wanted_ to go to the ball. So _what_ if that idiotic moron what's-his-name would be there? He'd be in a mask. Hidden, amongst a hundred other people. They would _not_ run into each other. But of course, those mousey spikes could not be concealed behind a mere mask… _ah_, she'd just have to avoid him.

Sora, on the other hand, had never really realized how much he was afraid of rope. Made of twine. Wiry twine. And when Roxas threatened him with the outrageously long and thick persuasion device, Sora knew he had no choice but to give in. Roxas had oh-so-handsomely rented a tux for his best friend, as if he knew all along that Sora would agree to attend the gala. It was a classic black, nothing too shabby or special—although Roxas had thrust a single white rose, with a shortened stem, into the breast pocket of the tuxedo. The mask Sora received from his companion was a tinted black outlined with white, the material sloping over the whole middle area of his face—the part above his eyes and lips.

When Roxas sternly reminded Sora to never reveal his identity because it was against the so-called "rules," he only earned a scornful laugh and a playful smirk. Sora replied that he wouldn't have to, that everyone would already know it was him because of his evident chocolate spikes. Roxas had immediately returned that smirk, revealing a container of hair gel he had been hiding behind his back.

In a span of three minutes, Sora's trademark gravity-defiant hair was totally slicked down.

He figured that he'd just linger around the refreshments, pouring deep cranberry liquid from the refreshment fountain, all by his lonesome self—not that he minded, or cared, because he really wouldn't have it any other way. Really. It was just him, sparkling cranberry juice, and constant trips to the guest bathroom.

Well, that lasted exactly fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds into his time at the masquerade ball, because he had seen _her_. So _beautiful_. Her white dress, brown hair pulled up into a loose bun with stray strands brushing against her cheeks… that smile, those _eyes_. Those wonderfully green, _green_ eyes. His heart had revved, skipping a beat or even two, wondering _why_ he was feeling such a way… because he knew not what lay behind that white silken mask this fair maiden wore.

And Sora was soon disgusted at himself, having let the words "fair maiden" enter his mind.

He soon found himself approaching the girl—only three insistent words managing to tumble past his lips.

…

"Dance with _you_?" Olette echoed, stepping back once, eyeing the _suitor_. Why would such a charming-looking boy ask a plain girl like _her_ to _dance_? Was this a trick? Her eyes narrowed, piercing against his, too deep to stare at for a lengthy matter of seconds. Perhaps it seemed too familiar. _Familiar?_ How could it seem familiar? She was not acquainted with any males who slicked their hair down so that it framed their pleasingly tantalizing facial features…

Olette refrained from gagging. She internally slapped herself for letting the words "pleasingly tantalizing" enter her mind.

"Yeah," was the one-worded reply she received. But she wanted more, and the boy must have known she wanted more, because he continued. "Please? It wouldn't be a problem… right?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Olette answered with a sigh, almost smiling when the boy looked as though he never knew she'd accept, yet felt jolly well giddy that she did anyway. She placed her hand in his, the other on his warm shoulder. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as his fingers met her waist, lacing over the ribbon that was placed there.

As if strangely on cue, a new melody began to play in the background… something like the celestial humming of angels, or the gentle cries of a lark, a nightingale. It was appealing to their ears, reminding them of a night blanketed with sizzling stars, the reflection of the full creamy moon mirrored against the shifting sea, and the soft loving lullaby a mother would sing to her dozing newborn baby, rocking back and forth on its swift cradle.

They never took their eyes off each other.

_Familiar… so familiar… you seem like someone I know…_

_Who are you? I feel like I've seen you before…_

_I feel like I know you._

_I feel like you know me._

Her chin was tilted upward, in order to comfortably gaze at her dancing partner. He was smiling. And so, she could not help but return the smile. At once, she knew, that she had never smiled in such a way before. At least, not in a long while. Very few people had the capability of being able to make Olette smile in that manner, but _this boy_ had completely managed it. _This boy_, who she had just met a simple hour ago.

_We've already been dancing for an hour?_

Somehow, after all the graceful steps, turns, sweeps and twirls, they ended up outside—where a bubbling fountain sprung crystalline arches of diamond-glitter water into the cold night air. The cobblestone ground was bordered with a trail of fresh, dew-kissed flowers, bobbing their pretty heads up and down in the midnight breeze.

"I wish I knew your name," Sora suddenly whispered, looking down at his lovely dancing companion. Because as far as he was concerned, he was the luckiest guy in the world, getting to dance with someone as sweet yet snappy as her. During their countless minutes of dancing, they had exchanged words—and they knew, _there was a bond_. Somehow. Something, something was just _there_.

_Maybe coming to the ball wasn't such a bad thing after all._

"Too bad we can't properly introduce ourselves," Olette replied, grinning weakly.

"Who says we can't?"

"Naminé, of course. She made up the rules."

"Right…"

Their dancing slowed to a halt, and they collapsed to the stone edge that rounded the whimsical fountain. Sora leaned back a bit, careful not to wet his tux from the springing waters. His eyes shifted toward the sky, the black sky. Not many stars were out tonight. But the moon was resident, a blinding fingernail hanging in an almost non-existent cloud. It looked like midnight. It sounded like midnight, with the lazy song of the crickets, the whispering winds of a night so light yet so deep. It felt like midnight—stuck in a mesmerizing dream, a dream in which you were having the time of your life sashaying across a marble floor with someone you barely knew—someone with an identity so faint, but so strongly familiar.

_I wish I knew your name._

"How do you know if you're in love?" Sora asked, still staring at the sky, the question falling from his mouth like a carefree feather. He said it like it was something simple, something plain. Something as simple as asking for the time, or what was for dessert.

Olette was rather taken aback, but appeared unfazed. She gave a small shrug of her slender shoulders, eyeing the slivered moon above them. "I guess you sort of… feel it. It just happens." She paused, casting her gaze downwards. "Well, I wouldn't know, really."

"Really, now…" Sora murmured, his eyes lowering a bit and swerving to meet the brunette's. "Can things like love just _happen_?"

"It's like breathing."

"Breathing?" Sora echoed, his voice growing softer. Once more, earthly emerald clashed against oceanic sapphire. But this time the vibrant colors locked… _breathing_… growing closer… _breathing_… faces inching toward each other… _breathing_… masks touching… _breathing_… his soft lips brushing against her tender cheek…

_Breathe, Olette!_

But when Sora's lips traveled across her face and finally found her mouth, she melted in his arms and forgot about breathing at all.

_I need to know who you are._

They slowly pulled away, and Olette felt her heart thump violently in her chest as the boy reached forward, his fingers taking a light grasp of the corners of her mask. As if they had made a silent agreement, she did the same with his, lifting her hands and holding the edge of his mask, ready to pull down and reveal the face of whom she was dancing with all along… the face she had just kissed…

_I need to see your face._

"One…"

_Familiar…_

"Two…"

_Who are you?_

"Three."

_Oh, my god._

Two masks, white and black, clattered to the ground. Faces revealed. Emerald and sapphire widened in pure shock… toppling over the edge of supreme bewilderment. His face, her face—reflected and illuminated by what was left of the moon… _it couldn't be._ How could a face one had so longed for, be the face that one had loathed since kindergarten? How could they not have noticed? How could they not have known, that for majority of the party… they were dancing with… _the enemy_?

…

_It was you all along._

Olette pushed herself up to her feet, feeling herself tremble. A gasp was stuck in her throat, remaining within her mouth. No sound came. She backed away, almost stumbling against the grout of the cobblestone. She averted her gaze from the deep liquid azure… shaking her head, feeling like she was going to be sick…

_Why did it have to be you?_

"But you hate me," Olette whispered.

Sora remained sitting against the fountain, his lips marginally parted. His eyes were fairly large at the sight—this was _Olette_. This was the girl that had always _bothered_ him. _Taunted_ him. _Mocked_ him. She always ridiculed him, cursed him, badgered him. How could she be the same girl that he was dancing with ten minutes ago? How could _she_ be the _one_ he wanted to _kiss_?

"No," was Sora's softened reply. "_You_ hate _me_."

Olette did not allow her eyes to well up with tears. She knew better than that. She knew how to stay strong, and she knew how to hold herself up without crumbling in despair. This was the boy she had always found irritating, not smart enough, too idiotic for words. Too idiotic to really comprehend things… but _how_ could he comprehend _love_? How was he able to make her _smile_ in such a way, and _laugh_ in such a way… that no one had ever made her before? Why couldn't anything make _sense_ nowadays?

_It doesn't make any sense._

She couldn't just stand there. She had to do something. Turn around. Leave. Never face him again. Forget the dance. Forget their talk of affection. Forget the _kiss_. Forget his _existence_, forget his whole being, forget the hate… forget the _love_… rid her mind and memory of all the words they had exchanged.

_Those wonderful words._

Olette swallowed hard, with much difficulty. She shook her head at Sora once more, turning around to leave. _Why him?_ She bit her lip, wondering why she was hesitant to begin storming off. That was her intention. To storm off. But she wasn't. She was standing there, her back facing him. They weren't supposed to be together. They weren't supposed to be dancing together, or laughing together, or smiling together… much less_ kissing_ each other.

_It just doesn't seem right._

Olette looked down, nodding once to herself, and began walking toward the French doors leading to the confines of Naminé's mansion. _I can't be with you._ But she was cut short after merely two steps, for someone from behind took hold of her wrist—refusing to let go. Refusing to let her walk away.

Refusing to lose her.

Startled, Olette slowly turned around to face Sora. There was a trace of a smile on his face. The same beginning of a smile that made her smile as well. Because she couldn't help it. Because there was just _something_ there. Something important, something strong. Something that made the hateful feelings evaporate. Something that a mask, which normally hid things, helped reveal.

_Breathe._

"Dance with me."

**end of part o2.**

**_fin._**

_and still for my darling mucky._


End file.
